


At Last

by letterfromtrenwith



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, this fic just kept getting longer as I wrote it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-11-09 09:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterfromtrenwith/pseuds/letterfromtrenwith
Summary: George Warleggan, a successful banker, and Elizabeth Chynoweth, a professional harpist, are introduced by a mutual friend who happens to think they’d be perfect for each other. She might be right but, with irritating exes and unfortunate family members on the horizon, the course of true love never did run smooth…





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my modern AU George/Elizabeth fic which started off with some ideas batted back and forth with a friend and turned into this absolute monster. I did have a lot of fun writing it, though, so I hope you all enjoy reading it :D

Francis gave a low whistle. “Wow, Caroline’s really outdone herself this time.”

George had to agree. The hotel ballroom was lavishly adorned – white flowers and silver decorations everywhere, snaking around the bannisters of the wide staircase descending from the entrances, large centrepieces on every table. There were even flowers on the chandeliers. No wonder the price of a ticket had been so staggering, covering the cost of all this on top of making up the charity pot.  
He couldn’t even remember what this benefit was for – Orphans? Refugees? Endangered species? Who knew. His secretary had accepted on his behalf and simply told him when and where to show up, as usual. At least he’d been able to persuade Francis to come along – his friend wasn’t exactly in the financial shape for this sort of thing, but sitting around moping wasn’t doing him much good, and George needed some intelligent company at these occasions. Although if he kept bringing Francis as his plus one, there would probably be some interesting rumours about them fairly soon….

“George! Francis!” Caroline, looking positively regal in a bright red gown, swept through the crowd, meeting them at the foot of the stairs with a fond embrace. “Where is your lovely sister tonight, Francis?”

“Oh, out in the country. Getting a bit of fresh air, you know.” Francis’ elder sister Verity was dealing with yet another financial crisis at the family’s gradually crumbling estate, the fortunes of which Francis was doing his level best to reverse with some – albeit gradual – success. Caroline knew all this, of course – everybody did – but said nothing about it, instead gesturing to the surrounding splendour.

“What do you think, boys?”

“As magnificent as ever,” replied George.

“Oh, you haven’t seen the best of it.” She slipped between them, taking both their arms and leading them towards the crowd. “Now, come and mingle.”

Francis gave George a look which suggested he would rather chew off his own arm than mingle with the assorted snobs, show-offs and idiots who Caroline generally gathered to drain of their funds. George entirely agreed, but Caroline was never to be denied.

The best of Caroline`s fundraiser turned out to be the Cornish Symphony Orchestra, recently returned from a series of performances on the Continent. George was impressed. Despite their relatively provincial origins, the orchestra had an excellent reputation; for someone less well connected than Caroline, securing their services for the evening would have been quite difficult. There was a genuine air of excitement as the performance approached, and eventually all attention turned to the stage, and their hostess.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to begin by thanking you all for coming this evening. I know that the patients and staff at the St Ives Hospice will benefit greatly from your generosity. Kindly donating their time for our cause, please welcome - performing an extract from Gliere’s Harp Concerto in E Flat - the Cornish Symphony Orchestra!”

Applause as the lights came up on the musicians, the harpist brightly outlined at the front of the group. George’s attention was drawn to her immediately; he couldn’t quite see her face properly, but she looked familiar somehow…then, they began to play. He could not look away as her nimble hands moved over the strings, coaxing the instrument to enchanting life. She was deeply absorbed in her playing, the light reflecting off her dark hair at every slight tilt of her head with the music. The piece was very nice, in George’s admittedly inexpert opinion, and would have been pleasant in any capable hands; however, her passion elevated it immeasurably. No doubt her colleagues were highly skilled, but it was not they who had captured his attention so utterly. When the crowd clapped wildly as the performance came to an end, George felt like a spell had been broken.

“Fantastic! Bravo!” Francis cheered from next to him as the musicians took their bow. Although not as expressive as his friend, George entirely agreed. The applause eventually died down, after which a few other guests drifted over and general conversation resumed, although it seemed even more deathly dull than usual. That is, until he heard an unmistakable voice breaking through the chatter behind him.

“…a few friends you must meet. Ah, here they are now!” He turned to see Caroline making her way through the crowd, accompanied by…her. The harpist. George felt his stomach flip…God, what was the matter with him? A bit of nice music and he’d gone soft.

“George, I want you to meet our stunning soloist…Elizabeth Chynoweth. Elizabeth, this is my good friend George Warleggan. Yes, THE George Warleggan.” He would have been utterly mortified at Caroline`s introduction had he not been transfixed by her companion. He knew her now, even before Caroline had said her name. Elizabeth Chynoweth was a member of a very ancient Cornish family - one which was, like George, well acquainted with the Poldarks. She had been a childhood friend of Verity and Francis, and her family home was only a few miles from theirs. They also shared a mutual friend in Caroline. Yet, somehow, despite all this, circumstances had conspired to prevent them from ever meeting. Until now.

He'd seen pictures of her, but they paled in comparison to reality. She was tall, taller than him in her high heeled shoes, with hair darker than it had looked on stage. She greeted him with a warm smile and a handshake, the slightest hint of roughened skin on her fingertips betraying her profession.

“It’s very nice to finally meet you. We’ve somehow managed to avoid it up until now.” Her voice was soft and soothing, full lips quirking to hint at amusement.

“Hmmm, and what a terrible shame that has been.” Caroline looked between them, mouth curving into a satisfied smile. George determinedly ignored her, keeping his eyes fixed on Elizabeth, not that that was difficult.

“Pleased to meet you too, at last. Your playing tonight was…exceptional.” He tried not to say anything overtly enthusiastic, lest he sound like an idiot, or a weirdo. He also fought not to stare at her, although that was a bigger ask. With her dark, expressive eyes, sensuous mouth and creamy skin flattered by her dark navy gown, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.


	2. Two

Elizabeth tipped her head back, closing her eyes behind her shades, and let the sun warm her face. The beachside café in St Ives was a favourite place of hers; she had missed it while travelling in Europe with the symphony, and it was wonderful to sit at her favourite table on the promenade, the salt sea air washing over her, and the cries of the sea birds echoing overhead.

“Shoo! Shoo! Filthy beasts!” Caroline’s admonishment, and the accompanying flap and indignant squawk of the seagull she had chased off intruded rather rudely into Elizabeth’s tranquillity. She opened her eyes, laughing as Caroline watched the bird turn and stroll off down the street as if it hadn’t a care in the world. When it hopped down onto the beach, she turned and sat, pushing her own sunglasses up onto her head. “Horrid things.”

“They’re just hungry.”

“Greedy, more like.” Just then, the waitress appeared with their coffee and cakes, pre-ordered by Elizabeth when she arrived. “See, chased him off just in time! He would have had that right off your fork!”

They ate and drank companionably for a short while, exchanging general chit chat about what they had been up to recently. They had kept in frequent contact while Elizabeth was abroad, but texts and Skype just weren’t the same. After a while, Caroline fixed Elizabeth with a look that she knew spelled trouble. 

“So…you went down _very_ well at the gala.” Elizabeth had a fair feeling she knew exactly where this was going, and so affected innocence.

“Well, it’s always nice for us to play at home.” Although that was not what Caroline was referring to, it _had_ been lovely to play in Cornwall again. The symphony had been on tour for a while, and although she'd had her reasons for seizing an opportunity to get away for a bit, it was wonderful to be back. Cornwall was her home, and she loved it dearly.

“_Not_ the symphony, although I will thank you again for arranging it. I mean you _specifically_ were very well received by a certain someone.” Elizabeth had known this was coming. She had seen Caroline eyeing her and George Warleggan speculatively as they chatted, and her friend was nothing if not an enthusiastic matchmaker – and general meddler.

“Don’t start, Caroline.”

“Oh, come on! He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Not that anyone could blame him in that dress you were wearing. You seemed pretty keen yourself, if I might add.”

“You might _not_. He was very nice and we had a nice chat. And I am glad that we finally met. That’s all.” All right, that wasn’t entirely true. He was a lot more than nice. He had been very charming – intelligent and thoughtful, and genuinely interested in what she had to say - and she would have to be blind not to notice that he was very handsome, with finely arched cheekbones and probably the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen…Fine. So he was good-looking and she had enjoyed his company. That did not mean she was ‘keen’. Yes, maybe she had spent most of the night talking to him and not mingling with the other guests, but that was Caroline’s fault for inviting so many rich idiots whose conversation amounted to nothing more than a lot of fatuous hot air. She could hardly be blamed for sticking with practically the only decent man there, could she? Especially since Francis had disappeared completely for most of the night. 

“Huh. I’ve been trying to introduce the two of you for long enough for a reason, you know.”

Elizabeth knew George Warleggan, of course. A highly successful businessmen, and owner of acres of Cornwall, he had turned his family’s profitable but fairly provincial bank into a major financial institution. However, despite several mutual friends - some going back years - they had somehow managed to never meet before; something which Caroline had been singularly determined to remedy for quite some time.

Some of the girls Elizabeth had been to school with – toffee-nosed snobs to a one – looked down on George as “new money”, on account of his great-grandfather having been a builder’s merchant or something like that. Not just the girls, actually; she had heard his name practically spat out in disgust by someone else….She pushed that thought away quickly. She’d spent too much time dwelling on that particular person. 

“I know that look…You’re thinking about Ross, aren’t you? You’ve got to forget him. Isn’t that why you were so keen to shoot off to the Continent with the symphony? To put it all behind you?” Any hint of mischief or teasing had disappeared from Caroline’s face and her soft eyes regarded her friend sympathetically. She had been a great support through the mess of the end of Elizabeth’s relationship and Elizabeth knew that Caroline only wanted the best for her, despite her meddling.

“That’s easier said than done, Caroline.”

“I know, darling, which is why I want to help you put Ross behind you. By putting someone much more suitable in front of you,” she paused, a cheeky twinkle coming back into her eyes, “…or underneath you.”

After a short, shocked pause Elizabeth burst into laughter and Caroline joined in, the two women giggling helplessly into their coffees. Elizabeth elected not to think too hard about how easily the thought of that “someone much more suitable” underneath her had come to mind….


	3. Three

“No, I know…But – We can’t -. Look, I’ll sort it out, all right?!….Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just I get so frustrated…Yes, I know you do, too. I’ll be down at the weekend and we can talk about it properly, okay? Okay. I’ll see you then…Bye.” George hung back awkwardly as Francis ended his call and scrubbed a hand over his face. The two had arranged to meet for a drink but George had arrived just as Francis was in the middle of an apparently fraught conversation. He could guess who his friend was speaking to – Verity, stuck at the old Poldark family estate fending off creditors and irritating relatives while Francis tried to resolve their financial situation.

George did his best to act as if he hadn’t heard anything as he approached but Francis apparently wasn’t fooled.

“Sorry, George. It’s all getting on top of Verity, which I can hardly blame her for. I wish I had something better to tell her. The dividends from Grambler have finally come due, but not for another two weeks, and they’ll probably barely touch the sides. Verity wants to sell more of the estate but….”

“But it’s your home.”

“Exactly! We grew up there for God’s sake. The Poldarks have owned Trenwith since just after the Restoration – do I really want to be the generation which has to flog it to some new money arsehole?” He pulled himself up short, realising what he’d just said. George’s father had bought their country house, Cardew, from a minor aristocrat who had gone bankrupt sometime in the early 80s. He knew his friend meant no offence but it was hard not to feel the sting nevertheless; the stench of 'new money' had followed George his entire life, either whispered behind his back or sneered to his face.

“I’m sorry, George. I really should learn when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Forget about it. How did the meeting with Treneglos go?”

“Well, they are willing to go into partnership – old John Treneglos knew my dad, and I think he feels sorry for me to be honest – but I’m not sure I can manage the outlay for the initial costs. I haven’t got much left and if the return doesn’t come in as quick as we’d like…”

George thought for a moment, wondering if he should make this offer. He’d been contemplating it for a while but held back for various reasons – fear of causing offence, for one.

“I could…I could arrange a loan for you. Not from me – that could get weird – but one of our partners, maybe?…Feel free to say no, and I’m not suggesting that you can’t manage yourself but, well, it would free up what you have to put back into the estate and with Treneglos willing to work with you any lender worth their salt would fix a good rate for you…” He trailed off, aware he was rambling, mainly to stave off any potential negative reaction from Francis. It seemed he need not have worried.

“George, would you? Oh, but that’s too generous. I know you, you’d twist their arm to let me off lightly somehow and I can’t let you do that…”

That had been exactly what he’d been planning to do, and would probably still do, but he chose to pretend that he had no idea what Francis was talking about.

“No! I’ll just…put you in touch with some people. They specialise in this sort of investment.” The particular people he was thinking of had a very profitable relationship with his own firm, and would lend money to sell coals to Newcastle if George asked them to, but Francis didn’t need to know that. “I’ll stay out of it after that. I promise.”

“Thank you, George. You’re a good friend….Anyway! Enough boring business talk, I’m going to order us some drinks.”

As Francis waved down a waiter, George made a mental note to make sure that tonight's bill ended up on his credit card. His friend was doing quite well in restoring the family fortunes, but his natural gregarious nature and inclination towards a good time meant he kept subtly undercutting his own efforts. 

They chatted about nothing much for a while – Francis sharing a few bits of gossip about some of their old school friends which George was mostly uninterested in, although news of a one-time bully getting divorced for the second time in five years brought a small measure of satisfaction.

“So…are you going to see Elizabeth again, then?” He just managed not to choke on his drink when Francis abruptly broke a brief silence with this question.

“Wh-what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, George, you can’t pull it off. You barely took your eyes off her at that party.”

“I – We – “ God, could he sound any more flustered, “we just talked. She’s very nice and very interesting and I…enjoyed her playing.”

“Rubbish. I mean, she is all those things, but she’s also gorgeous and the only woman you’ve more than glanced at in I don’t know how long.” George felt the horrible sensation of a possible blush rising. Francis continued before he could think of a suitable denial. “Caroline’s been dying to introduce the two of you for a reason, you know. Beyond just finally getting you both in the same room. She’s been scheming it for ages. I think even while Elizabeth was still with Ross.” 

_What?_

“Ross? Your cousin, Ross? He and Elizabeth –“ Ross had been at school with the two of them, and he and George had never got on particularly well - to put it very mildly - something which had made for a rather awkward time for Francis.

“Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. They’re not together now, anyway. I won’t say any more, it’s Elizabeth’s business, really….Don’t let it put you off, though. I could tell she liked you.”

“Do you think so?” The eagerness George could hear in his own voice was mortifying. He had thought about her a lot ever since the party and regretted not being brave enough to ask for her number. There had been a moment at the end of the night as they were saying goodbye, but the words had stuck in his throat. He was no good at this sort of thing, not blessed with the easy charm of someone like…well, someone like Ross Poldark.

“I do, George. I really do. You’d be a fool to let her pass you by.”


	4. Four

“May I have a primo vanilla latte, please? To take away?” After she paid the barista nodded Elizabeth to the waiting area at the end of the counter. The little coffee shop was busy, as it usually was this time of day. St Ives was full of the usual chain coffee shops but the independent locals kept going. This one was particularly popular, partly thanks to its central location. Just a few minutes away from her rehearsal space, it was a regular haunt of Elizabeth’s.

Someone in the crowd accidentally jostled her and she instinctively turned towards them.

“Sorry – oh, hello.” It was George Warleggan. He offered her a small smile, which she returned, trying not to blush as she remembered her conversation with Caroline the other day, about putting a certain someone “underneath her”.

“Hello. How are you?”

“Good, you?”

“Yes.” There was a slight awkward pause and they both gave a nervous laugh. Elizabeth took a breath and decided to just take the plunge. “It was really nice to meet you the other night….At last.”

“Yes, likewise. Caroline’s mission finally accomplished.” He sounded serious, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes, and Elizabeth found herself chuckling.

“It does seem strange, us knowing so many of the same people – Caroline, Francis, Verity – and never managing to meet before. I mean, we’ve both known Francis since we were teenagers.”

“Yes…Just one of those things, I suppose. I was in London a lot more for quite a few years.” He seemed like he wanted to continue but stopped. Before Elizabeth could reply, the barista called his name and then hers in quick succession. After they collected their drinks, George nodded to one of the outside tables.

“Would – Would you like to sit down? Or are you on the way somewhere?” 

She had wanted to get some practice in before lunch, but instead shook her head and smiled.

“Not right away…I’ve never seen you in here before.”

“There’s a café just a few doors away from my office, but they’re closed for repairs. Thought I’d stretch my legs a bit since it’s such a nice day.”

“I see. And, yes, it’s a beautiful day.” They sat and sipped their coffees in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the sun. 

“How did the wedding go?”

Elizabeth was briefly taken aback by this question until she remembered that the night of the gala she had told him she had been asked to perform at a wedding last weekend. She was surprised and flattered that he had remembered.

“I enjoyed playing, and everyone was very nice but the wedding itself was very….expensive.” He huffed a laugh at that. They had undoubtedly both been to their share of society weddings over the years. “They released doves as I was playing the couple out.”

“Doves? People really do that?”

“Apparently! Oh but,” she laughed, “confetti was banned…in case the doves ate it!”

Their eyes met and Elizabeth found herself drawing a sharp breath at his look. The air seemed suddenly electrified between them. Despite her protests to Caroline, she had sensed his attraction to her, and felt her own to him, at their first meeting. Even with their slightly awkward beginning today it had still been there, but to see it so clearly reflected in his eyes…

He stood abruptly and the spell was broken.

“I’ve got to be on my away, I’m afraid. I’m expecting a call from the US at lunchtime.”

Elizabeth tried to hide her disappointment. Perhaps he wasn’t as interested as she thought. Not if he was making an excuse to leave already.

“Oh, please, don’t let me keep you.”

“No…it’s just my secretary has already sent me…,” he pulled out his phone and looked at the screen, “_five_ messages asking where I am. I’m never usually out of the office for this long during the day. But…”

He hesitated a second, and Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in a way she hoped was encouraging.

“But there’s something I’d really like to ask you. Actually, I really wanted to ask you at the gala…Would you like to have dinner sometime?”

“I would love to!” She was a bit embarrassed at how enthusiastic she sounded, but George gave a wide, genuine smile, apparently equally pleased by her answer as she had been by the question. After binning his now empty coffee cup, he searched his pockets for moment, pulling out a small card and a pen. With a quick scribble on the back of the card, he handed it to her.

“That’s my personal number. Call me when you’re free. Now, I really should go or they’ll send out a search party.”

“Wait!” She rifled through her bag, finding a piece of notebook paper – she’d always thought business cards a bit too grand for a harpist – and a pen. “Here’s my number. I wanted to ask for yours at the gala, too.”

She hadn’t meant to make this admission but didn’t regret it now it was out there, especially given the look of surprised happiness it brought to his face.

They parted ways then, Elizabeth down the road towards her studio space, and George in the opposite direction, back to wherever his office was. Just before she rounded the corner, she glanced back to see him paused at the top of the hill looking in her direction. They shared another smile before she turned away, ducking her head so passers-by couldn’t see her grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that for the first instalment! The chapters are fairly short so I'll be posting a few at a time. Thank you for reading :)


	5. Five

“Elizabeth, you look absolutely stunning. As you did in the other three outfits you tried.” Caroline grinned mischievously from her seat on the bed, surrounded by a pile of Elizabeth’s clothes, her little fat pug Horace perched comfortably on her lap.

“You said you wanted to come over and help but you’re just enjoying watching me getting worked up.” Elizabeth cast an accusing eye at her friend before turning back to her wardrobe.

“Well, at least you’ve admitted you’re getting worked up.”

“I haven’t been on a date in ages! I’m allowed to be a little nervous.”

“Yes, especially when you’re incredibly keen on the man in question.”

“Yes!…No! I mean…” Caroline laughed delightedly at her trickery of Elizabeth, who tried to fix her with a glare but couldn’t help smile. Caroline knew her too well. Her nervousness about this date wasn’t just down to how long she’d been ‘off the scene’ as it were. Although they’d only met twice, and talked on the phone a couple of times, she liked George. _Really_ liked him. She hadn’t been entirely devoid of offers in the time since the end of her last relationship, but none had interested her, until now.

“You’ve really got nothing to worry about. You could go in your pyjamas – not those silk ones, those old lady winceyette ones you wear when you’re ill – and George would still be totally smitten. He’s crazy about you, although he wouldn’t admit it without a bit of prodding either.”

~

“Er, I’m here to meet Mr. Warleggan?”

“Of course, madam, just this way.” The waiter led Elizabeth through the stylishly appointed bar and up the stairs into the restaurant. “Just there by the window.”

Although it was busy, Elizabeth spotted George straight away, as he had her, standing up to greet her. Their table was by the window, with an absolutely stunning view out onto the bay. She hadn’t been here in a long time and had almost forgotten how beautiful it was. When she glanced back to George the look on his face told her that her outfit choice had been spot on.

“You look beautiful.” These were the first words out of his mouth, and he looked faintly embarrassed before smiling at her a little shyly. It was incredibly endearing. She felt that ‘so do you’ was probably a lame response, as true as it was. His dove-grey suit – undoubtedly tailor made – fit him perfectly, and his dark blue tie brought out those striking eyes of his. The same eyes she kept finding herself thinking about in idle moments. She settled for a quiet thank you before they sat down.

“You were lucky to get a table by the window,” God, what a pathetic opening line. Why was she so awkward? Just before he could reply, the waiter swept up to their table, practically brandishing a bottle of wine.

“Compliments of the house, Mr. Warleggan, for you and your lovely guest. Would you like to taste it?”

“Yes, thank you.” Elizabeth watched as the waiter uncorked the bottle, and poured a splash into George’s glass. He swirled it around and then took a sip. “Very nice. Please thank Robert for me.”

The waiter poured them both some more before taking his leave. George gave her another slightly embarrassed smile. So that explained the table.

“I’m a bit of a regular.” Definitely the place to impress a woman, she supposed. “Business only, however…until tonight.”

She wondered if he had guessed what she was thinking, and felt suddenly awful for imagining him as some sort of womaniser. He’d certainly never said or done anything to give her that idea; besides, Caroline wouldn’t have introduced them if that had been the case, but once bitten, twice shy as they said. Well, enough of that. Smiling, she nodded at the wine bottle.

“So, are you a bit of a connoisseur?”

“What?…Oh, the wine?” He paused, looking oddly thoughtful for a moment. “Actually, I know nothing about it all, I think most of it tastes the same personally. I just nod if it tastes nice….Don’t tell anyone!”

They both laughed and suddenly the ice was broken. With that, it felt like any hint of awkwardness had magically melted away. They fell easily into conversation again, like they had the night of the gala – so easily in fact they had to send the waiter away when he came for their order as they hadn’t even gotten around to looking at the menu.

When they finally got to it, the food was even better than Elizabeth recalled. The place specialised in fresh, locally-caught seafood and it was absolutely delicious, although not delicious enough to avoid being consumed rather slowly as they talked. She told him about music school and joining the symphony, while he shared some stories about his schooldays with Francis that she would very much enjoy teasing her old friend with. Although it didn’t dampen their conversation, she noted that he – as she did – mostly avoided the subject of his family, although he did mention that both his parents had died when he was young. The momentary flicker of sadness in his eyes had touched her deeply, but she had not pursued the subject, sensing he was not prepared to open up further.

He broke a short, comfortable silence with a soft chuckle and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, “ he said, putting down a forkful of seabass, “I was just thinking about what Caroline would say if she could see us now.”

“Oh, well, aside from the fact that you’re thinking about another woman on our date,” she teased, and he gave another small huff of laughter, “I imagine she’d be crowing.” 

“Definitely.”

“How do you know Caroline, just out of interest?”

“How long have you known her?

“Oh, about seven years or so. I met her through a friend of a friend from school and we just hit it off…why?”

“Well, you’ll remember Unwin?”

“Oh God, do I! Can you believe they almost got married?!” Unwin Trevaunance was an absolutely ridiculous man Caroline had dated for a while a few years ago and very nearly become engaged to. It was her uncle who had been more keen on that, however, since Unwin was rich and well-connected. Thankfully, both Caroline and her Uncle Ray had come to their senses before it was too late.

“I was at university with him.” Elizabeth felt her mouth drop open in horror, but George pre-empted her embarrassment. “Don’t worry, I thought he was an idiot as well. We only stayed in touch because we worked in the same field for a while. I couldn’t believe it when he introduced me to Caroline and said she was his girlfriend. After they eventually broke up, I stayed friends with her when he stormed off to London in a sulk. I’ve barely seen him since. He married someone a bit more, well, compatible I think.”

“Good luck to her, whoever she is.” They laughed again, and Elizabeth wasn’t sure she’d enjoyed herself this much on a date in quite some time, if ever. As the waiter cleared the remainder of their entrées, something occurred to her and she shook her head with a small smile. 

“What?” 

“Well, it’s just - that’s something else we’ve been on opposite sides of if that’s the right way to put it. It’s like we’ve been travelling on parallel lines.” 

“Or maybe more like diagonal lines - gradually getting closer until they…touched.”

“Yes…” Elizabeth did her best to hide the flutter his intonation of that final word set off in her stomach by acting very interested in the dessert menu. 

She wavered about actually ordering one, but George encouraged her with a tactful comment about how wonderful they were here, and it was only when the empty plate from her heavenly chocolate and strawberry ganache was being taken away that she realised how much time had passed. As they talked and laughed and ate, she had been only half-aware of the gradual lessening of the bustle of the busy establishment and the gradual dimming of the summer evening sun. She looked around the realised they were the only customers left – it was almost 11 o’clock!

“Oh my, we’ve closed the place down!”

“Don’t worry, the last time I entertained clients here, they ended up staying until almost one in the morning!”

“Oh my God.”

“Thankfully, the deal was worth the four hours of sleep I got that night. As was the tip they ended up giving the waiters who stayed behind.”

~

Out on the street, there was a light breeze blowing off the water and Elizabeth gave a slight shiver.

“Are you cold?” He slipped off his jacket, and Elizabeth wondered if she’d had a touch too much wine when she found herself admiring the fit of his shirt around his shoulders and upper arms. The silk lining of the jacket felt wonderful against her bare shoulders, and the scent of his cologne – something warm and dark and inviting – was more than a little hypnotic. “Can I call you a taxi?”

“Hmm?” She had been so distracted by the sensory pleasure of wearing his jacket that it took her a moment to understand the question. “Oh no, I’ll just get one from the high street. I can walk.”

“I’ll walk with you. You can’t go alone at this time of night.” She had never felt unsafe in St Ives but didn’t object to his offer because, despite how late it was, she realised she wasn’t ready for the night to be over. Not just yet. It was only when they were almost to the top of the hill that something occurred to her.

“How are you getting home?”

“My office is just a few streets that way, a little back toward the bay.”

“You’re going back to the office?” Caroline had told her he was a bit of a workaholic, but surely this was beyond the pale.

“Oh, no! Oh, well, yes, but I have a flat above. I’ve been meaning to buy a house here ever since I set up the office, but I never seem to get around to it.”

“Why did you establish an office here, if you don’t mind me asking? I mean, there aren’t many major financial institutions with branches in St Ives, let alone head offices.”

“Well, I was born in Cornwall, and the West Country’s quite neglected in terms of business investment. Dad set up in Truro originally, but St Ives is a bit more active financially these days. Our involvement here is something most other companies like ours don’t have. Plus, a little holiday by the sea can be quite persuasive for potential clients.” She laughed out loud and he smiled back – the widest smile he’d given her all evening. It made him look positively boyish.

They came to a natural halt as they reached the main street, turning to face each other. Although she had worn quite low heels tonight, she was still a little taller than him in them. He showed no sign of being at all perturbed by this, despite having to slightly lift his head to look at her. In fact, his eyes hinted at same stir of desire she could feel in herself. She shivered again, although she wasn’t cold this time.

It wasn’t clear which of them closed the gap eventually, but when their lips met she positively melted into the kiss, sighing and pressing herself close. She might have been ashamed at the slightly desperate way she gasped against his mouth, but the kiss was simply too good for her to care. It had been a while, but it wasn’t that. The touch of his lips was gentle but with just enough of an edge of want to light up every nerve ending in her body.

Both breathing heavily as the kiss broke, they smiled at each other, suddenly bashful. Even in the faint yellow-ish glow of the streetlight she could see his fair skin was flushed, as no doubt was hers. She might have kissed him again had he not stepped back and raised a hand to one of the taxis at the rank further down the street, which immediately pulled forward. Elizabeth realised that the driver, and those of the other few cars, had probably seen her practically wrapping herself around George on the pavement, but found she wasn’t quite as embarrassed by that as she possibly should have been. Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was just the company.

He opened the door for her, and just as she got in he said:

“I had a really good time tonight, Elizabeth.”

“So did I. Really good.” Their eyes stayed locked as he shut the door, and she turned to watch him as the car pulled away. He raised a hand to her just as it turned the corner, and she sat back with a smile.

It was only as she paid the driver at her own building that she realised she was still wearing his jacket. Oh God, what if he couldn’t get back into his flat? She quickly rummaged in the pockets but found nothing. He must have taken everything out before he gave it to her. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, she took out her phone.

_I seem to have taken something of yours. Sorry!_

She was through the door of her own flat when the message pinged back.

_ So it seems. Would you be kind enough to return it   
when you can? Maybe over lunch on Saturday?_

_I’m sure that could be arranged._

Elizabeth realised she was blushing like a schoolgirl and grinning like an idiot. Oh no. Caroline was going to be _insufferable._


	6. Six

“So…,would you like to come up?” Elizabeth shifted a little awkwardly, biting her lip. This was their fourth date, and if she were honest with herself, she’d been plucking up the courage to ask him some variety of this question since their second. Standing at the door of her building after a very pleasant, and slightly anticipatory, walk home, seemed like now or never. 

“Ah – Are you sure?” She nodded, smiling. George returned the gesture just a touch shyly, and she turned, crossing the lobby to the old-fashioned caged lift. He closed the grille behind them, their eyes meeting as the lift began to creak up the two floors to her flat. The air seemed to crackle between them, their breaths hitching. Elizabeth gripped the metal bar behind her to stop her from reaching for him. The cage ground to a halt and she practically wrenched the gate open, rummaging in her bag for her keys. She could feel him following her, hear the soft tap of his footsteps behind her.

As she fit the key into the lock, he gently touched her back, fingers brushing her bare skin, and she shivered, hand fumbling. She finally twisted the door handle, shoving it open. George followed closely behind her, shutting the door as she threw her bag aside, not caring where it landed. He stood still there for a moment, watching her as she turned back to him. They both moved at once, meeting in the middle, Elizabeth’s hands framing his face, his arms wrapping around her waist as they kissed; passionately, desperately. Although it didn’t seem to bother George in the slightest that he had to lean up to kiss her, she kicked off her heels, levelling their heights. He pulled her closer, one hand sliding up her back, into her hair, dislodging the pins.

Elizabeth moaned against his mouth, going willingly when he gently leaned into her, moving her until her back met the wall next to the window. Momentarily, she remembered that her curtains were still open, but that thought – along with every other – disappeared out of her head when he kissed her neck. His hands slid over her body, gently gripping her bare shoulders, thumbs stroking her collarbones; she moaned again, rolling her hips against the thigh he had pressed between hers.

“Oh…Bedroom. _Bedroom_,” she managed to gasp out, even as she wrapped her arms more tightly around him.

“God, yes,” he breathed against her skin, stepping back abruptly and taking her hand. “Which way?”

Elizabeth blinked at him for a moment, her brain not quite processing the question. When she managed to answer, nodding her head in the right direction, she marvelled at his relative composure, despite his rather dishevelled appearance.

Although it was only a short distance, they didn’t quite manage to make it directly to the bedroom, unable to keep their hands off each other for long enough. George’s almost certainly ridiculously expensive jacket ended up on the floor in the hallway, his tie draped on a side table. When she finally pulled him into the room, he slid an arm around her waist from behind, pulling her against him as he kissed the back of her neck. She reached back to slide her hand into his hair, gripping tightly when he moved to cup her breast; even through her clothing the touch sent a bolt of sensation straight down the middle of her body.

Almost reluctantly, Elizabeth wriggled away from him, clambering onto the bed, lying back against the pillows in what she hoped was a clear invitation. He hesitated only long enough to get rid of his shoes and socks before following her, stopping above her on his hands and knees. She toyed with the open collar of his shirt briefly before sliding her hands behind his neck and pulling him down to her, kissing him deeply, sighing as he settled his weight on her, pressing her into the mattress.

They kissed for a while, until Elizabeth realised that George was groping oddly at her back. He pulled away.

“How do I get this bloody thing off you?!” She huffed a laugh, wriggling around underneath him until she could indicate the zip at the side of her jumpsuit. Once he’d managed to undo it, it became apparent there was really no sexy way to get the garment off, and this time they both laughed as she struggled out of it, George helping her to pull it off her legs and throwing it onto the floor, leaving her only in her strapless bra and underwear.

All hint of amusement disappeared from his face as he looked down at her, lifting a hand to trace the edge of the soft pink lace covering her right breast.

“You are so beautiful.” The pure sincerity in his voice moved her. She looked at him, his fine features touched by the fading summer twilight filtering through the curtains.

“So are you.” Surprise flashed across his face at her reply, but before he could react further she pulled him into another kiss, arching her body against him impatiently. His hand stroked over her hip, her thigh, slipping between her legs. She moaned, pressing herself against him through the fine lace. After a few moments, his touch became more purposeful and Elizabeth gave herself over to it, letting the pleasure build until it overwhelmed her and she cried out, writhing.

When she caught her breath, she leaned up to kiss him once more, chasing his mouth as he pulled back, moving instead to brush kisses down her chest, between her breasts and down her stomach. Realising his obvious intention, Elizabeth tugged on his shoulder, stopping him. He looked up at her questioningly, but followed without resistance when she encouraged him back up her body.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that later…, but, right now, I just really want you…if that’s all right.”

George kissed her once, hard and intense.

“That is…very much all right.”

~

Elizabeth’s eyelids fluttered open, before she immediately squinted against the dawn light. When her eyes adjusted, she glanced at the clock, only to find the display was covered by her discarded knickers. Looking down she saw her bra, a smudge of pink against the crisp white of George’s shirt, both thrown onto the floor in mutual haste.

She lay on her front, covers bunched up at her waist. They’d managed to get underneath them last night before falling asleep – although considering what they’d just done on top of them, it was a token bit of modesty. As she stretched, she felt a pleasant, satisfied ache in her muscles, one she hadn’t felt in a rather long time.

Feeling a gentle touch to her back, she turned her head. George lay next to her, head turned to towards her, stroking her skin with the back of his hand. Sleep – _and sex_, she thought, almost blushing – rumpled, he looked much softer and younger than he usually did. She felt a great rush of affection for him as she looked into those crystal blue eyes.

“I’m going to have to go.” This brought her up short. Was he just going to run out on her? After last night?

“Oh. All right.” His hand came up to gently lift her chin.

“Very much against my will. There’s nothing I’d like more than to stay here with you – all day, if I could.” A hint of a suggestive smile, and she did blush this time. “But I have to be in London tonight, and I have a lot to do before then.”

She felt silly for doubting him – she was letting her past experiences cloud her judgement. The clear desire – and tenderness – in his eyes as he looked at her was evidence enough that he told the truth. She bit her lip.

“Do you have to leave straight away?” She reached out, brushing her hand over his chest, before shifting so she could press a kiss to his shoulder. Lifting her head, she gave him a pleading look. He took a deep breath.

“Well, perhaps not this very second…”


	7. Seven

George stifled a yawn as the driver shut the car door behind him. It had been totally unnecessary for his secretary to book a private car, there were taxis at the airport even at this time of night. He shifted irritably in his seat, tired and cross about the inconvenient hour. The meetings in the City had gone well but there had been a ‘crisis’ at the London office which he had been called in to solve just as he had initially been preparing to leave. It had all been a storm in a teacup in the end, but he’d still ended up catching a short-haul flight in the middle of the night, booked last minute.

He debated nodding off in the car, even though it wasn’t a long journey home. Well, back to the flat. It wasn’t a home, not really. Nowhere was, not even Cardew, tainted as it was with childhood memories he didn’t wish to relive.

Pushing thoughts of that aside, George felt another pang of annoyance at his subordinates’ inability to handle a fairly straightforward, if highly inconvenient, problem. How could he run the company if he couldn’t rely on the people he delegated to? Perhaps it was time for some reorganisation. If they were going to keep running to him about every little thing, how was he supposed to have any free time? Not that that had ever been an issue before. Work, the company, had been everything to him for years now. There had never been anything – or anybody – which had been sufficiently engaging to take his attention away from them…Until now.

Elizabeth had been on his mind a lot since their first meeting, but after their night together he had struggled to think of anything else. The usual whirl of meetings a visit to the Capital entailed had kept his focus, but in quiet moments, and every night he lay alone in the London flat, she had been all he thought about. Her soft voice and sweet smile; her grey eyes and pale skin; her hair spread out on the pillows; the sounds she made when she…

The ping of his phone pulled him out of his entirely too enticing reverie, and he felt just a touch of embarrassment when the name of its subject flashed on the screen.

_Hello. How was London? You’re back tonight, right?_

_ Yes. Just on the way to the flat now. You’re up late. Rehearsals?_

They had exchanged a few messages during his trip, and she had mentioned that the Symphony were adding some new pieces to their repertoire.

_No. Just couldn’t sleep.   
Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow?_

_ No. Even I take the occasional Sunday off! Why?_

_Would you like to come over? Now, that is._

George leant forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

~

Elizabeth answered the door wearing a pair of light pink silk pyjamas, her hair loose. Her eyes were soft and sleepy, but bright. She was stunning.

“Hi,” she smiled widely as she stepped aside to let him in, “good journey?”

“Yes. Glad to be back, though.” He used to think Cornwall was dull and London the place to be, but as he got older he appreciated his birthplace more and more, and spent less time in the City when he could help it.

“I’m glad you’re back, too.” This caught him by surprise, and he was briefly stuck for something to say in reply. Elizabeth came to his rescue, however.

“Would you like a drink? Glass of wine okay?” He nodded. “Why don’t you sit down? You’re probably tired.” 

As she pottered about in the kitchen, he draped his jacket over the arm of the sofa and sat, sinking into the soft cushions. The last time he was here they had been so keen to the get to the bedroom that he hadn’t had a chance to look around. Elizabeth’s flat wasn’t particularly large, but it was light and airy, decorated in a classic, comfortable style. It suited her.

On the coffee table, a few photos were gathered together in a single frame. A younger Elizabeth, Francis and Verity in what looked like a garden; Elizabeth and Caroline, both dressed for a party; the Symphony on stage in an ornate concert hall, and Elizabeth with a young woman George didn’t know. Somewhere in her early 20s at the most, she was pretty with long, dark hair. She looked a little like Elizabeth, but not enough to be a sister – maybe a cousin?

Any more wondering was halted by Elizabeth sitting down next to him. He took the glass she offered, admiring her as she curled up next to him, bare feet tucked under her.

“So, how was your trip?”

“Do you really want to hear all about my boring business trip?”

“Yes, of course. And I’m sure it’s not boring!” So he told her something about the projects his company was working on. She appeared genuinely interested, listening intently and asking questions. Eventually, feeling like he’d rambled on for too long, he managed to get her to tell him about her rehearsals. She enthused about a new performance the Symphony was preparing for – accompanying a local opera company premiering a new work based on Cornish legends. Her passion for music came through almost as strongly in her words as in her playing, and he was very nearly as enraptured listening to her speak as he had been watching her perform.

She came to a stop a little abruptly, looking at him quite intently. The wine and her animation had flushed her cheeks just a touch.

“Listen to me yapping on…I’m sure you know I didn’t invite you here just to talk?” She smiled a slow smile and his breath caught.

“Well,” he said, putting his now empty glass next to hers on the table, “I didn’t like to presume, but…”

She came forward to meet him, the kiss starting soft and gentle, but quickly becoming more desperate, more intense. Elizabeth surprised him by shifting to straddle his lap, pressing him back against the sofa. He groaned against her mouth as she rolled her hips, wriggling as close as she possibly could. When they broke apart, panting, he managed to slide his hands from where they had settled on her thighs up to the belt of her pyjama jacket. She looked straight into his eyes, biting her full bottom lip, as he slowly pulled out the knot, slipping his hands into the opening.

“Oh…” she sighed as he stroked over her bare skin, caressing the soft curves of her breasts, and enjoying her shiver as he trailed his fingers over the faintly discernible lines of her ribs. They kissed again and she arched more firmly against him. He pulled back with a moan.

“God, Elizabeth, stop…”

“Why?”, she teased, doing it again.

“Oh, because – oh! – if you keep that up, I’m going to be horribly embarrassed.”

She positively grinned at that.

“Oh…no….” Suddenly pulling away from him, she wriggled off his lap, slipping down onto her knees on the floor in front of him. Running her hands up his thighs, she pushed them slightly apart. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed at all.”

_Dear God._

~

A sudden burst of sunlight woke George up. With a pained hiss, he shut his eyes again. Thankfully, the light dimmed, probably behind a cloud. For a second he couldn’t remember where he was, but then he became aware of the soft weight on top of him and it all came back perfectly.

They’d never made it off the sofa, their clothes in a heap half over the coffee table. Stretched out along the couch, Elizabeth on top of him, her head on his chest, he was surprisingly comfortable. In fact, he had no desire to move at all. He was still wearing his watch, and very carefully tilted his wrist to squint at it. Just a little before 7 on a Sunday morning. Only one thing to do. He closed his eyes again.

“Hello, sleepy.” It was Elizabeth who woke him the next time, except she was no longer on the sofa with him. She knelt beside him, wearing her pyjama jacket again, although not much else judging by the tantalising glimpse of her bare thigh. He realised that she had covered him with a light blanket.

“Hello.” Her hair was tousled, and he had a very clear memory of sliding his hands into it to tip her head back so he could kiss her neck. Something which had made her moan in a way that drove him to distraction.

“You were dead to the world when I woke up. I thought you might need the sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 11.”

“What?!” God, he was lying naked on her sofa in the middle of the morning, which suddenly seemed like the most mortifying thing the world. He made to sit up but she put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s Sunday. Besides, I’ve only been awake about half an hour myself, if that. I just woke you up to ask if you wanted any breakfast.”

“Oh. Well. That would be nice. I will get up, though. And, er, dressed.”

“Not too dressed, I hope.” He looked at her, not quite understanding.

“Well, I was thinking we could have breakfast somewhere more comfortable….like in bed.”


	8. Eight

“God, it’s packed in here.” Bea Carkeek, first violin of the Cornish Symphony, shoved her way back into the booth, brightly coloured cocktail in hand. “They said the food could be half an hour!”

“I think the A-Level kids finished their exams this week or something.” Keren Smith, percussionist, whose petite frame belied her highly physical profession.

“Ugh, that explains the spotty youth who’s eyeing Elizabeth from the table over there.” Elizabeth turned in the direction Bea indicated, only to be given what was probably supposed to be a seductive smile by a slightly greasy looking boy who was almost certainly doing some underage drinking. She gave him a polite nod before turning back and immediately breaking into hysterical laughter with the others.

“Oh, bless him,” she wiped her eyes, before taking a sip of her own cocktail.

“Well, at least he’s got good taste,” said Keren, still chuckling.

“Maybe you should give him a chance, Elizabeth. You know, do the Mrs Dalloway thing.” Bea wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Mrs Dalloway? Do you mean Mrs. Robinson?!”

“Oh yeah…Who’s Mrs. Dalloway again?”

“From Virginia Woolf,” replied Elizabeth, laughing again as Bea made a face.

“Well, whatever, you know what I meant! Introduce him to the joys of an older woman.”

“Not particularly keen on being the ‘older woman’ at 29, Bea!”

“Well, you might have to settle for whatever you can if you don’t get any action soon,” Kere gave her a meaningful look. “I mean, have you even had a look-in since you broke up with what’s his face?”

“Can we not talk about men and sex all night? I know you two are obsessed, but I get enough pestering about my love life from my other friends, I don’t need it from you!” They exchanged a glance, but seemingly dropped the subject, Bea volunteering some news about one of the other violinists having been offered a first seat in Glasgow. This thankfully led into a totally non romance related thread of conversation, which lasted until their food came – more than half an hour after ordering. Bea threatened to make a fuss, but Elizabeth dissuaded her, more interested in digging into her burger than worrying about how long it had taken.

Their eating was broken by only an occasional bit of chat – they had had a long day of rehearsals, their conductor driving them especially hard as the opera performance approached, and they were all starving.

“Ok, so,” Keren patted a spot of tartare sauce from her lips, dropping the napkin next to what little was left of her fish and chips, “can we talk about your pathetic love life now, Elizabeth?”

“It is not pathetic!” It really wasn’t, considering she had spent almost the entirety of the previous Sunday in bed with a very handsome man. She tried not to think too hard about that at this moment, however, in case she gave herself away by blushing. Taking a sip of her drink didn’t help, since the wine reminded of her of that she and George had drunk on Saturday night, before…Well, before her sofa had had the most exciting night of its life. The evening had ranked pretty highly for her, as well.

She wasn’t ready to share any of this with Keren and Bea, however. Even Caroline only knew they’d been out on a few dates, not that they’d…although Caroline would figure it out as soon as she laid eyes upon either of them, Elizabeth was sure. She didn’t really know why she didn’t want to tell anyone about her and George yet. Maybe it was her past bad experiences, maybe it was how new their relationship was, or maybe she was just enjoying having it – and him – all to herself for a while.

“Oh, for – I’m going to the ladies.” Sliding out of the booth, she wound her way through the crowd, unsurprised to find a long queue for the bathroom. Well, hopefully her friends would have found something else to discuss by the time she got back.

Taking a different route on her eventual return, she spotted a familiar face at a table by the bar.

“Francis! Hello.” He looked up, startled.

“Oh. Elizabeth. Hello.” Confused by his slightly odd reaction, she was about to ask if he was okay when another woman appeared at the other side of the table.

“God, Francis, it’s chaos back there…oh, hello.”

“Er, Demelza, this is Elizabeth. Eizabeth, Demelza.” Demelza was in her mid-20s with vivid red hair, a very pretty pixie-like face and a friendly smile. She looked familiar somehow, although Elizabeth couldn’t quite place her.

“Nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met before, actually. Well, sort of,” Demelza chuckled at Elizabeth’s probably quizzical look. “I was waitressing at the gala. I saw you perform. You were wonderful.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth did recognise her now. She had actually noticed her hair first amongst the crowd at the gala – even brighter against her black waitress’ uniform. “Thank you.”

Although Demelza was still smiling, there was a slightly awkward pause, and Francis looked deeply uncomfortable. Considering she had just been deliberately concealing her own recent romantic developments she could hardly blame him for being similarly discreet.

“Well, I won’t keep you. Enjoy your night. I’ll call you, Francis.” She turned away but glanced back to give him a teasing wink out of Demelza’s view. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d got more than she expected from that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you're all enjoying :D


	9. Nine

“When was the last time you properly relaxed?”

“Outside of your bedroom?”

“You know what I mean!” Elizabeth laughed, swatting at him gently with her free hand. She and George lay on their backs on a picnic rug in a wildflower strewn field, the mid afternoon sun warming them gently. Elizabeth’s head rested on George’s chest, his arm around her waist, hand entwined with hers on her stomach. “When was the last time you relaxed like this?”

“Lay about in a field?” She huffed in mock frustration at his teasing tone, and he laughed. “I suppose it’s not something I would ever think of doing.”

A country drive and a picnic had been Elizabeth’s suggestion, one which had earned her a slightly dubious look from George, although no argument. The forecast for this particular Sunday had been perfect – pleasantly warm but not too hot and no rain. She’d packed the picnic herself that morning in happy anticipation. Elizabeth had always loved being outside, all the way back to running around the gardens at home as a little girl.

George had given her another doubtful look when she pointed out the field, but pulled the car into a makeshift lay-by nevertheless. It had perhaps once been part of a farm, but there were now no fences, no animals, and the grass and flowers had been allowed to run wild. He had still looked around with some caution as Elizabeth spread out the blanket in a partially shaded spot where the grass was not too long.

“Just don’t look at me if we get set upon by an angry gamekeeper with a shotgun.” However, they hadn’t seen a single soul for the better part of three hours, not even another car passing along the country road behind them, and they had passed what was in Elizabeth’s opinion one of the loveliest afternoons of her life. Lying there with him, the grass tickling her bare feet at the edge of the blanket, she felt utterly content.

Lazily, she shifted, turning over onto her front and propping herself up so she could look down at him. Bathed in sunlight, his fair hair and eyelashes turned almost gold, he regarded her in a way that could only be described as affectionate, a small smile curving his mouth.

_I’m in love with him_. The thought hit her quite suddenly, and it was almost overwhelming. She had no idea what to do about this realisation, so she settled for kissing him instead. Leaning down, she pressed her lips gently against his, parting them ever so slightly. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, deepening the kiss and she moaned softly, wriggling herself closer to him. She felt George slide his arm under her just a moment before he abruptly rolled them over, bearing her down onto the blanket. She gave a surprised giggle, reaching up to pull him back down to her, kissing him more thoroughly. A hand slid up her thigh, under the hem of her sundress, pushing it up just enough to allow him to settle between her legs. Elizabeth rolled her hips against him and –

The ringing of George’s phone seemed nearly deafening in the stillness of the summer afternoon and he immediately stiffened, breaking their kiss. Elizabeth stroked her fingertips gently over his cheekbone.

“Surely work can’t need you urgently right now?” He made to shift off her. His face had darkened, lips pursed.

“That’s not work.”


	10. Ten

“I have to go to Cardew, I can take you home first but…”

“No, it’s much closer. I’ll come with you…if you want me to, that is.”

“….Yes, I would like that.” He kept his eyes on the road and Elizabeth couldn’t read his expression. After a quick phone call, George had told her that he had to leave as his uncle was ill, and they had scrambled their stuff together and bundled it into the car.

“Is it serious?” She felt both rude and stupid asking this question, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Maybe…He has a heart condition. It runs in the family.” Obviously anticipating her reaction to this, he added: “Not me. In a rare bit of good fortune.”

“Why isn’t he in hospital?”

“He refuses to go now. Says he’s spent too much time in them. He has a private nurse at Cardew.”

“Oh.” They passed the rest of the journey in silence, the tension coming off George in waves. She desperately wanted to offer some comfort or reassurance, but didn’t know what. It didn’t take long for them to get to Cardew, thankfully. Elizabeth hadn’t known exactly how far away they were, but had been vaguely aware they were heading towards it on their drive. She’d never been to the house, of course, but had passed it many times.

They pulled up on the gravel driveway and hurried to the grand front door, leaving Elizabeth with little more than a glimpse of the fine Georgian exterior. A harried looking woman met them in the elegant reception.

“He’s resting. He’s had his medication, and the doctor’s with him. It was a bad scare, but it’s over now.”

“Will he see me?” Elizabeth couldn’t help but wonder why on Earth George’s uncle wouldn’t want to see him, but it wasn’t her place to ask. Not now, at least.

“Yes.”

George turned to her briefly, a gentle touch to her elbow.

“Go and sit down, I won’t be long.” He strode away after the woman Elizabeth assumed was the nurse. She stood awkwardly in the hall for a few moments, unsure where to go until a friendly looking middle aged woman appeared from somewhere near the grand staircase.

“Please, come through to the sitting room, Miss -?”

“Chynoweth. But call me Elizabeth, please.”

“Of course.” With a wide smile she directed Elizabeth into a beautiful sitting room, painted a surprising shade of very deep pink. “Some tea, Elizabeth?”

“Oh, that would be very nice, thank you, er –?” But before Elizabeth could ask the women her name, she bustled out back the way they had come in. Taking a seat on an undoubtedly antique sofa she took in the room a little more. Despite the more obviously lavish decoration, it was actually rather reminiscent of George’s little flat above his office – nice, but very impersonal. There were a few framed pictures on the mantelpiece, but Elizabeth resisted her own curiosity, not wanting to be found nosing around when the – housekeeper? – returned.

She appeared after a short while with a tray carrying a fine tea set and a plate of macarons, setting about pouring the tea, ignoring Elizabeth’s attempted protests that she could manage herself.

“There, I’m sure George won’t be too long with Mr Warleggan. He rarely is.” Without clarifying that mysterious comment, or giving Elizabeth an opportunity to finally find out her name, she disappeared once more. A few sips of tea and a nibble on the delicious confection later and her prediction proved to be true – George appearing at the door, looking pensive.

“How is he?”

“Same as always. Which is good, I suppose.” He took a seat next to her with a sigh, pouring himself a cup of tea, although she suspected it was simply to give himself something to do.

“I don’t want to pry but – “

“But you will?” He paused, sighed. “…Sorry, I’m just…families, you know?”

“I do. I really do.” He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.

“You don’t talk about your family much.”

“Neither do you! You’ve barely mentioned your uncle before.”

“No. I suppose these are the sort of things we should really talk about, aren’t they? I’m just…I’m not used to ‘sharing’ I suppose. I did wonder if Caroline might have told you anything.”

“No. Why would she? She’s a bit of a gossip, but she would never betray a confidence.”

“Oh, I know that, but well, that’s sort of part of the reason we got on in the first place…both brought up by an uncle. You know, Dead Parents Club.”

“Oh.” That had never occurred to Elizabeth before, and she felt a little bad for it. Caroline was fairly laissez-faire about her familial situation, however, and loved her Uncle Ray dearly, despite his slightly overbearing nature. “No. She never said anything. Do you – do you mind telling me what happened to your parents?”

“My mum…cancer, when I was six.”

“Oh, God.”

“Dad, he – well, he sort of went off the rails after Mum died…drinking, mainly. When I was thirteen he wrapped his car around a tree about three miles down the road from here. I think we passed it, actually.” He added the last comment very quietly, looking down at the teacup balanced on his knee, and Elizabeth felt her heart break for him.

“Oh, George…That’s…” She put her hand over his, and after a moment he turned his over and interlaced their fingers; she squeezed gently. He stood abruptly, breaking their hold on each other and crossed to the fireplace, lifting down one of the frames. As he retook his seat, he handed it to her.

“This is them. You can’t really tell, but Mum was pregnant with me there.” The picture, taken sometime in the mid-80s, showed a good looking couple in their late twenties. George’s mother was very pretty, with fair hair and skin – it was obviously her he took after more, although his father’s strong jawline and piercing eyes were unmistakable.

“Mary and Nicholas,” said George, quietly.

“She’s beautiful….Thank you for showing me this, and for telling me.” She turned to him, their knees brushing, and reached for his hand again. “I didn’t ask just to be nosy –“

“I never th – “

“I asked because I really do want to know about you. Anything you want to tell me. Everything.” He looked up at her and she smiled gently, hoping that from this statement he could intuit the strength of feeling for him she was trying to convey, but wasn’t sure she had quite the right words for yet. For a second, he looked as if he might reply, but instead leant forward and kissed her gently, resting his forehead against hers as he pulled back. He opened his mouth again, but the door suddenly opened, admitting the probable housekeeper once more.

“Oh, ‘scuse me!” George turned away from Elizabeth altogether, and she was happy to see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s all right, Joan. Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to ask if you were going to be staying? So I can make your room up.” She looked meaningfully between them, and Elizabeth was touched to see clear affection in her eyes as she addressed George.

“Yes, I – I think I’d better. For a few days.” He looked back at Elizabeth.

“Would – would you like to stay? Although, I suppose you’re busy, and you haven’t got any clothes…”

“I’ll think of something. I’d love to stay.”

He smiled. 


	11. Eleven

“So, this was your room?” Elizabeth’s sceptical look was understandable. The large bedroom on the upper floor didn’t exactly scream “teenage boy”, except perhaps the small collection of model cars on top of the chest of drawers in the corner.

“Yes, not that I spent much time here after Dad died. Boarding school, you know. Plus Joan is a fanatical tidier; she could spot a stray sock on the floor at fifty paces.”

“Oh.” She did her best to hide it, but George could see the flicker of sympathy in her eyes. Normally he couldn’t bear any trace of pity in another person, and did his level best to avoid discussions of his personal life for that very reason, but from Elizabeth it was somehow different. He suspected she understood his past on some deeper level of her own which she hadn’t shared yet; he had noticed her own avoidance of the subject of her family, but hadn’t pressed her. She had been able to gently encourage him to open up to her – to _want_ to open up to her – but he wasn’t sure he possessed the skill to do likewise. 

“Have you got everything you need?” She had borrowed his car to go and pick up some things for herself, returning a couple of hours later – time which George had spent wandering around the house in the way he usually did when he returned, feeling the now-familiar sense of disconnect from his childhood home that had probably first appeared when he’d watched the undertakers carry his mother out of her bedroom, but had definitely fully formed the night he’d answered the door to two sombre-looking traffic policeman.

“Yes.” He suddenly regretted asking her to stay. It had been a deep emotional urge, to have her here, but now it felt awkward. Their relationship had been progressing so well, incredibly well – George wasn’t sure anything had felt so _right_ for him in a long time – and now he’d dragged her into his depressing family life, which was possibly reminding her of whatever situation she had.

“Look, you…you really don’t have to stay. It’s nice of you, but….” She turned back to him, coming to stand beside him next to the bed.

“I didn’t say I would stay to be polite. I _want_ to. I want to be here. With you.” The complete honesty in her eyes hit him hard, too many emotions trying to bubble up inside him. He was saved from possibly blurting out something unwise by Joan shouting up the stairs that dinner was ready.

Elizabeth’s reassurance had taken just a bit of the stress out of him, so dinner was much more relaxed – and he found himself feeling more comfortable at Cardew than he had in years. Joan had clearly let the excitement of him bringing a woman home get to her and had outdone herself with the cooking. Her genuine smile of pleasure at Elizabeth’s sincere compliments on the food had warmed George deeply.

“Joan’s really a fantastic cook.” Elizabeth said on the way upstairs later.

“She is, although she’s not normally so full-on. Not many guests nowadays, so she doesn’t get to impress very often.”

“How long has she worked for your family?”

“Since just after Mum died. Dad was at a bit of a loss about looking after the house – and me, I suppose – so he hired Joan. She stayed on after he died, although her and Uncle Cary have never been the best of friends, to put it mildly. I keep telling her she should just take early retirement, but she says somebody’s got to keep the place standing.”

“She’s doing it for you.” He looked sideways at her, and Elizabeth smiled gently.

“It doesn’t take a genius to see how much she cares for you – “ he knew that – “and she wants this to still be your home. Everyone should have a home.” She looked a little sad at this, and he desperately wished he knew the right thing to say. But, stopping on the landing just outside his room, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I’m just going to look in on Uncle Cary.” Heading down the corridor, he heard his bedroom door click softly shut and fought the urge to turn back and simply follow her to bed. He came to Cary’s room and tapped quietly on the door, half-hoping his uncle was asleep.

“Come.” No such luck. He pushed open the door. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Just came to see how you are.” Cary half sat up in the bed, propped on a pile of pillows, wrapped in a once fancy but now somewhat worn dressing gown. 

“Not dead yet, much to your disappointment I’m sure.” George chose to ignore this, partly because there was a miniscule yet undeniable grain of truth to it, which filled him with guilt. 

“Have you taken your pills?”

“Yes, that bloody nurse won’t leave me alone until I do.”

“Linda, Uncle Cary.”

“Hm.” He grunted, disinterested. “So…who’s the girl?”

“What?” This question was so utterly unexpected that George forgot for a moment that there was in fact a genuine answer to it.

“The girl you’ve brought with you. I saw her getting out of your car.”

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.” As true as this was, it was a diversion tactic on George’s part. He didn’t want to talk about Elizabeth with Cary; conversations about almost anything with his uncle were generally fraught - no matter what efforts he made to the contrary - and discussing his romantic life wasn’t going to be any better.

“Surely she’s got a name?”

“Do you really care?” Cary humphed again, and George sighed. “Do you need anything?”

“Nothing anyone will give me.” God knows what that meant. Booze, probably. The last time George was here, he’d found Joan pouring a very expensive bottle of whisky down the drain, having removed it from Cary’s study. The old man was forbidden to drink by his doctors, instructions which he tried his level best to ignore.

“Fine. Good night, Uncle.” Another grunt.

He made his way back to his room, feeling drained. After all this time, he should really be beyond frustration at their inability to have a normal relationship. Today had been a bad day for Cary, but he was rarely on much better form. Even before the illness had become more serious, George’s uncle had been a dour, uncommunicative man, generally preferring the company of a glass of Glenfiddich and the Cardew ledgers than that of his orphaned nephew. George wasn’t sure what dragged him down more, his years-long struggle to connect with the closest thing he had to a parent or those same years wearing down the once-robust Cary faster than they should.

A significant weight was lifted, however, at the sight which greeted him as he returned to his bedroom. Elizabeth sat on the bed, wearing what was presumably the best she had managed to do for nightwear, a large loose-fitting light grey t-shirt. It hung slightly off one shoulder, and ended part way down her thighs. As beautiful as she looked, however, it was her gentle smile and soft eyes which really touched him. 

“How is he?”

“Still a grumpy old sod.” He hadn’t meant to say this, but he was tired and Elizabeth had a particular – and not unpleasant – way of causing him to let his guard down. She turned and sat up, tilting her head to the side just a fraction.

“You’re…not close?” George sighed and came to sit on the bed, his hand resting just next to her bare knee, but not touching her.

“No. He’s not exactly the paternal type. He came to be my guardian after Dad died, and he had no idea what to do with a teenage boy. Running the house, the company, he could take care of that, but me…Honestly, I think he was relived when I turned eighteen and he had no responsibility for me anymore.”

“He stayed?” George had sometimes wondered about this himself, but he also knew Elizabeth’s words were a more sensitive way of asking why he hadn’t just kicked Cary out. He appreciated both the question and the delicate way it was put. 

“My mum was an only child. Cary was Dad’s only sibling.”

“…He’s your only family.”

“There’s some distant cousins of Mum’s, but yes.”

“Oh, George.” She put her hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn just a little further towards her. The clear look of empathy on Elizabeth’s face suggested this might be a good time to ask her about her family but he still wasn’t sure he had the right words. She saved him from having to try to find them by softly pressing her lips to his, pulling back almost instantly as if she were – unbelievably – unsure that he wanted this. Wanted her. Well, he could settle that.

He returned her kiss, more intently than she had given it, encouraging her to open her mouth under his. She wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him closer. Shifting his weight, he touched her at last, hand settling at her hip. Gently, but firmly he leant forwards, until she understood what he wanted and allowed him to press her down into the mattress. Breaking the kiss, he looked down at her for a moment, lifting a hand to gently brush her hair back. Smiling, she leant into the touch for a moment before tugging him back to her, other hand grasping the collar of his shirt.

Now, everything melted away – everything but the taste of Elizabeth’s mouth, the feel of her smooth skin under his hands, and her soft sigh against his lips.


	12. Twelve

The view out of George’s bedroom window was one of the loveliest Elizabeth had seen in a long time. Dew sparkled on the vast lawns, forming a pretty backdrop to the neatly kept flowerbeds and hedges closer to the house – maintained under Joan’s supervision, no doubt. What kept her from enjoying it fully was how much it reminded her of Cusgarne, the Chynoweth family estate, somewhere she hadn’t been in several years. Sitting on the comfortable window seat, someone else might have wondered how George could possibly have been unhappy here as a child – even without his parents – but Elizabeth knew very well what it was like to be surrounded by beauty and luxury, and to feel nothing for it.

She turned back to the bed, where George still slept; half on his front, face partially obscured by the pillow, his normally neat hair ruffled. He could be such a reserved and restrained person, and she had come to enjoy him very much in his more unguarded moments, especially since she got the feeling that most of them were saved especially for her. Last night, as they’d been falling asleep curled up together, thoroughly satisfied, he’d murmured in her ear.

“Well, that’s the most action this bed’s ever had.” Giggling, she’d cuddled closer, his arm tightening around her waist. Thankfully, they’d both moved during the night or she wouldn’t have been able to slip away without waking him. She was idly admiring the lines of his bare shoulders when he stirred with a quiet ‘hmm’. Without opening his eyes, he reached out a searching hand for her, only lifting his head when he realised she was no longer there. Blinking against the bright morning he eventually focused on her.

“Good morning.”

“What are you doing over there?”

“Just admiring the view.” She hoped her expression made it clear that the particular view she was referring to wasn’t out of the window. It obviously did as he dipped his head a little shyly, which was just too irresistible. Elizabeth stood, coming to the edge of the bed, and stripped off the loose t-shirt she wore. Smiling, she slipped back under the covers, and into George’s arms.

~

The flowers flowed gently across the canvas, their pastel blooms forming an eye-catching yet subtle wave of colour. Elizabeth had found the painting in an upper corridor and it had attracted her attention immediately. There was quite a bit of art in the house, as with most country houses, but this particular work was different somehow. It was equally beautiful but much less formal than the Victorian landscapes and stiff portraits which hung elsewhere.

George had disappeared into a study to make some work calls, telling her he wouldn’t be long and to make herself at home. She’d elected to do this by giving in to her curiosity and exploring the house a little, although she hadn’t ventured into any rooms with the door closed, and deliberately avoided looking at anything which seemed particularly personal – that way she could pretend she wasn’t being nosy. She could almost hear Caroline laughing at her.

Seeing the house George grew up in had been enlightening but also awakened a little melancholy in her. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a young George wandering these same corridors alone, an experience she herself was not unfamiliar with. Despite Cusgarne being several centuries older, Cardew was rather reminiscent of it, and her little expedition around the house had only increased the rather sad sense of déjà vu she had felt looking out over the gardens that morning.

Deciding she had done enough meandering around, she headed for the stairs, thinking she might drop in to the kitchen for a cup of tea, perhaps chat to Joan some more; see if she could resist the temptation to ask her about what George was like a child. She imagined him as a rather serious little boy – it was hard to think he could have been otherwise considering what his childhood had been like.

“There you are! Bed rest for at least three days, that’s what the doctor said.” Elizabeth stopped on the middle landing and glanced back, seeing a man standing where she had been a few moments before. He must have come out of one of the closed rooms just after she left. Dressed in a faded robe, he was probably somewhere in his late 50s, but looked rather older thanks to his pale, drawn face, and what little of the rather sour expression she could see. He was bald, but despite that and his rather rough-hewn face, she could detect the resemblance to the more chiselled features of Nicholas Warleggan. This was obviously Cary. It was not he who had spoken, however, but a woman. She now appeared on the landing, the nurse – Linda, George had called her – who had greeted them when they arrived.

“For God’s sake, woman, make me a prisoner in my own home.”

“You’ll be a corpse in your own home if you don’t do as I say. Now get back in bed.” If George had not told her a little of what Cary was like, Elizabeth might have been shocked at hearing a nurse speak to her patient in such a way. However, she sensed a tough line was probably in order in this case. Suddenly feeling like an eavesdropper she turned away and continued down the stairs. 

  
~

“There you are.” Elizabeth nearly started at the sound of George’s voice. She was sitting on an elegantly-wrought metal and wood bench in the gardens, partially hidden from the house by the flowering bushes surrounding it. Lost in thought, she had not heard him approach, even on the gravel pathway. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, er, yes, I – “ She had dropped into the kitchen, but found Joan absent, and after making herself a coffee, had decided to venture outside. However, this had done little to alleviate her slight melancholy, reminding her even more of Cusgarne, where she used to spend so much time out of doors. She wasn’t sure how to put this all into words, so she settled for attempting to change the subject. “I saw your uncle upstairs.” 

“Oh.” Oddly, he sounded just a touch alarmed, and came quickly to sit next to her. “I really should explain – “

“I didn’t speak to him. I don’t think he even knew I was there.”

“Oh. Well, I really should still tell you. I said he was too ill for visitors – which is mostly true – but actually I wasn’t even going to tell him you were here. He would have had no idea if he hadn’t seen you out of the window by chance.” Perhaps seeing her confusion on her face, he rushed to continue. “I…I told you we don’t have the best relationship. Everything between us is so…difficult most of the time. Before his heart got worse things frequently used to develop into a shouting match. Maybe keeping things to myself is the cowards’ way out but I just got tired a long time ago. It’s too hard to talk about things with him – especially things which are very important to me.”

He took her hand a touch tentatively, and she linked their fingers – touched by his words and, honestly, understanding where he was coming from.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I should have told you before, or – “

“No, it’s all right, really. I know how difficult families can be”

“Your parents? No, never mind, if you don’t want to –“ 

“It’s okay. Really. Actually, I was very close to my father.”

“Was?”

“He died four years ago. Sudden heart attack.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“His funeral was the last time I spoke to my mother.” Despite the topic at hand, she couldn’t help a small smile at George’s genuinely surprised expression. It was quite difficult to catch him unawares. “Yes. So you see, I really wouldn’t have any right to get upset at you not telling your uncle things.”

“I noticed you never talk about your family, but, well, I didn’t know how to ask you about it. Or if it would upset you.” 

“I made you tell me, so I should probably tell you.”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“It’s all right. There’s not really much to tell to be honest. I was always, well…I suppose they call it a Daddy’s Girl.” He smiled, and she squeezed his hand again. “Mum and I were very much on different wavelengths. I wasn’t what she wanted as a daughter, and she made that fairly plain from when I was very young.”

“Oh.” Somehow that one syllable conveyed a great deal of understanding. George had often given her the impression that he believed he wasn’t very good with people, but he didn’t give himself enough credit.

“She wanted me to be, well, just a miniature version of her, really. Parties and socialising and eventually marry someone rich and well connected and then Lord it over everyone else. There’s nothing really wrong with that I suppose, but it just wasn’t me. I liked being outside, and reading, and most of all, my music. She didn’t approve of that, thought it was frivolous. We had an argument when I started lessons, another when Dad kept paying for them even after she thought I should have given up, an argument when I said I was going to music school, and another argument when I joined the Symphony. You say you used to have shouting matches with your Uncle? Well, I know what that’s like. Eventually, it just became too much, we were sniping at each other every time we spoke. She didn’t approve of anything I did and I just wanted her to leave me alone. I suppose I got my wish. I kept in touch with Dad, but I didn’t see him for a long time before he died. I only found out because my Aunt told me. Mum barely acknowledged me at the funeral. I’m just nothing to her now. A failure.”

“Elizabeth…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s not okay really, is it? You lost your mum, so did Caroline, Francis and Verity, too. Mine’s still alive and I don’t even want to be in the same room with her. Maybe I should appreciate what I’ve got more. Maybe I’m just ungrateful.” She’d never voiced this particular sentiment. Not to anyone – not even Caroline. George, however, had a way of listening to her which made her feel as if she could say anything.

“No, Elizabeth. No!” She was taken aback by the firmness of his tone. “Your life is your own. You don’t have to accept anything less than you deserve – certainly not for my sake, or anyone else’s.”

“Thank you…I don’t know what’s come over me, really. I don’t think about my parents much – it’s easier not to – but being here reminds of Cusgarne and… it just set something off.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“Me too.” She smiled at him again, wider this time. He lifted her hand and gently kissed the back of it. Such an odd, old-fashioned gesture on the face of it, but at that moment it was perfect.


	13. Thirteen

“Caroline, I absolutely cannot wear this.” Elizabeth hooked the hanger over the top of her wardrobe, straightening the gown. She had to admit that the material felt wonderful to the touch, and the embroidery was exquisite. However, the fact that the embroidery was pretty much all there was to the bodice was rather the sticking point.

“You absolutely can. You’ll look stunning. George won’t know what to do with himself.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively. Elizabeth refused to take the bait.

“It’s not George I’m worried about seeing me in it. It’s everybody else.” The debut of _Kernow -_ the production on which the Symphony was collaborating with the South Western Opera Company - was being honoured with a gala performance. Elizabeth perhaps should have been suspicious when Caroline declared that she had ‘absolutely the perfect dress’ for her to wear, but here they were.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Elizabeth. Sheer is all the rage now, and you’ll probably still be more covered than half the other women there. Will you try it on, at least?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Fine.”

“You love it, don’t you?” Caroline’s smug smile in the mirror tempted Elizabeth to say it was the most hideous creation on Earth, but she couldn’t lie that well. Not to Caroline, for sure. The white chiffon skirt flowed beautifully to the floor, puddling just a little at her feet, and the lace detail on the otherwise sheer bodice and gently puffed sleeves was stunning – as delicate as spun sugar. She had to confess to still being a touch self-conscious about the amount of skin left showing, but it was quite probably the most beautiful dress she had ever worn in her life.

“Yes. I really do.”

“You’re going to be the belle of ball.”

“I’m not sure I want that! I’m just a member of the orchestra – the gala is all about the opera.” Her protest sounded weak even to her own ears. Now that she had the dress on, it was hard to imagine wearing anything else. And if she was totally honest with herself she was rather looking forward to seeing the look on George’s face when he saw her in it.

~

She was not disappointed. When she stepped out of her bedroom, George’s mouth actually dropped open comically. Typically, however, he recovered fairly quickly, although the open admiration in his eyes was enough to send a thrill through her.

“Elizabeth, you look….incredible.”

“Don’t look so bad yourself.” It was a bit of a lame comeback, but it was certainly true. His black tuxedo was perfectly tailored, and he looked every bit as handsome as he had the first night they met. She came forward to meet him, lifting her hands to finger the lapels of his jacket; his slipped around her waist, thumbs stroking her skin through the sheer fabric. “Nervous?”

“Me? You’re the one who’s performing…Not that you need to be nervous about that.”

“No, I meant, well - after tonight, people are going to know about us. People who aren’t Caroline, that is. We’ve been so…discreet up to now.” They had been seeing each other for a few months, enjoying the privacy and intimacy of keeping it to themselves - aside from Caroline, of course. However, especially since their little unexpected visit to Cardew, it had become clear that it was serious between them and they had mutually decided to ‘go public’ this evening. 

“I’m not a fan of the society gossip mill, but we can’t be ‘discreet’ for the rest of our lives.” The phrase “the rest of our lives” released a fluttering sensation somewhere in her breast – and not an unpleasant one. “Besides, I think there’s a point where ‘discreet’ starts to look like ‘embarrassed’, and that’s about as far from how I feel about you as I could get.”

He looked directly into her eyes as he said this, and Elizabeth could respond only in the way her body desperately urged her to. She kissed him, hard. His response was equally fervent, pulling her closer, one hand sliding up her back as she wrapped her arms around his neck. For a few moments, there was nothing but the two of them – his hand curving around her shoulder-blade, the material of his jacket under her fingertips, the press of his mouth. Until, that is, he abruptly pulled back, breathing heavily.

“I – I’m really going to have to stop there. Looking at you all night in that dress is going to be torture enough without getting too worked up beforehand.” Elizabeth bit her lip, grinning, enjoying his only half-serious groan of protest when she quickly kissed him again before stepping back.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I am. Anyway, the car’s going to be here – “

The doorbell rang.

“ – soon.”


	14. Fourteen

The concert hall was absolutely packed. George had to admit that were his girlfriend not playing in the orchestra, an opera based on Cornish folk tales would not have been his first choice of an evening’s entertainment, but there were apparently plenty of people who felt otherwise. _Girlfriend_. He felt a small smile creep over his face at the idea. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of Elizabeth like that before, but after tonight he would be able to describe her that way to everyone.

“What are you grinning at?” It was Francis, followed by a pretty redhead in a dark green gown. George assumed this was the fabled Demelza, who Elizabeth had told him about accidentally meeting and then sworn him to secrecy; secrecy which had been entirely unnecessary as Francis had been completely unable to stop talking about her the next time George had seen him. Apparently whatever desire for discretion Francis may have had had gone entirely out of the window in the face of his feelings for Demelza. George could sympathise.

“I was not grinning.”

“That’s as close to grinning as you ever get.” It wasn’t Francis who spoke this time but – George was pleased to see – Verity, looking rather more glamorous than usual in a smart black dress. She did grin at her joke, sliding into her seat next to Demelza.

“Oh! Where are my manners? George, this is Demelza Carne. Demelza, George Warleggan.” Demelza offered her hand for an impressively firm shake, and then treated him to a charming smile.

“It’s nice to meet you properly at last, Francis has told me a lot about you.”

“Oh, has he?” George raised his eyebrows at Francis, who was suddenly deeply absorbed in the program. “Well, likewise, actually.”

“Really? Hmm, I wonder what you could tell me about him.”

“Not as much as I could tell you!” Interjected Verity, laughing. Francis made a noise of only half-mock outrage.

“Three against one. This really isn’t fair.”

“Wait until Caroline arrives, then it’ll be four.” Verity retorted.

“What’ll be four?” Caroline dropped into her seat beside George with a smile, a vision in pink silk.

“Oh, we’re just picking on Francis.”

“So I’ve arrived at just the right moment!” Francis groaned and everyone else laughed. Introductions were made, and if Demelza looked a mite taken aback by Caroline’s apparent grandeur, the latter soon put her at her ease with her natural skill, enthusing about Demelza’s dress and teasing Francis about his love life. 

“Look, the orchestra’s coming in.” Demelza nodded towards the stage, and George couldn’t help craning forward to try to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth. He found her quickly, her white dress standing out in the shadow of the orchestra pit. She glanced in their direction but, with the lights beginning to dim, he couldn’t tell if she’d seen them.

He’d bid her goodbye in the foyer with a kiss – enjoying making the affectionate gesture so openly – before she’d slipped away backstage to join the preparations and he’d gone in search of his seat.

“Elizabeth looks lovely, doesn’t she, George?” Caroline regarded him mischievously, a glint of troublemaking in her eyes. George elected not to give her the satisfaction.

“Yes, she looks beautiful, as I told her when I picked her up.” Caroline positively beamed and George couldn’t help but enjoy the strangled noises Francis and Verity simultaneously made behind him.

“What?! You – “ Francis began to hiss, but at that exact moment the house lights went down entirely and he was left in suspense for three acts.


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning - this chapter is not very Ross friendly!

“Oh, Elizabeth you were wonderful!”

“Verity, I was only in the orchestra.” Elizabeth smiled with her answer, feeling the sincerity of her friend’s compliment.

“But we came for you! And don’t think we didn’t hear your accompaniment of that aria in the second act.” Caroline embraced her. “But I’m sure it’s not our congratulations you’re really interested in.”

She looked behind her, where George stood patiently, smiling at Elizabeth, who couldn’t help but grin back, entirely aware she probably looked like a lovestruck teenager. He slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her firmly but chastely on the mouth, before rolling his eyes at Verity and Caroline’s deliberately exaggerated girlish squeals.

“Oh, give over.” Elizabeth said as she gently pressed herself into George’s side.

“I would ask you for all the gory details, but I know you’ll both just clam up on me, so I’ll settle for saying I’m really happy for you…” Verity’s affectionate smile at them both was genuine but Elizabeth detected a glimmer of sadness in her eyes, perhaps unnoticeable to someone who hadn’t known Verity as long as she had. After ending a relationship several years ago, the elder Poldark sibling had been mostly on her own, the demands of the faltering family fortunes eating up her time. Elizabeth knew she worried about her age – as ridiculous as that was – and Francis recently getting involved with Demelza wouldn’t have helped. She hadn’t spoken to Verity as much as she perhaps would have liked recently, preoccupied with her work and her own blossoming romance, and she resolved to change that as soon as possible.

“George!” A wave from across the room.

“Oh, it’s John Treneglos. Do you mind if I have a word?”

“No, of course not.” He kissed her again, this time on the cheek, then slipped away into the crowd, his hand lingering on the small of her back for a just a moment before he let go.

“Oh, here you are!” Demelza emerged from behind a waiter, from whom she quickly snagged a cocktail.

“Here we are? Where did you two go? Where’s Francis now? We lost them in the crush.” Verity directed the last point at Elizabeth by way of explanation.

“Got stuck behind an elderly lady, poor soul. Francis is at the Gents, so we might find him again by midnight!” Demelza took a long pull of her drink – it was rather warm in the function room – and turned to Elizabeth.

“That was fantastic! So different. The Mermaid of Zennor’s aria was beautiful – with your accompaniment, stunning!”

“Oh, thank you.”

“May I ask you a personal question? It’s not about music.”

“Oh. Well, yes.” She sensed Caroline leaning a fraction closer on her left and resisted giving her friend a nudge.

“Well, I didn’t twig until I read it in the program but your surname, Chynoweth, that’s quite unusual, isn’t it?”

“Fairly.” Elizabeth couldn’t possibly imagine where this was going.

“Are you related to a Morwenna Chynoweth?”

“Oh! Yes! She’s my cousin…Do you know her?”

“A bit. I don’t know what Francis has told you, but I’m a PhD student – botany. I’ve been teaching a course on plant anatomy for the art department – she’s one of my students.”

“Wow, what a small world! Is she a good student? Say no, and then I can embarrass her when I see her next.” Demelza laughed.

“Sorry to disappoint, but she’s a very good student. She’s very talented. Artistry obviously runs in your family.” Before Elizabeth could reply, Francis squeezed into their little circle. He looked rather too alarmed for having just had to queue for the loo for a while and seemed slightly out of breath, as if he’d been hurrying.

“Elizabeth! I have to tell you, I’ve just seen – “

“Hello, Elizabeth.” Opposite her, Caroline’s eyes widened, and then narrowed, but Elizabeth didn’t need to look to know who stood behind her. The voice was unmistakable, although it – like hers – had been raised the last time she’d heard it. A heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach. She returned the greeting without turning.

“Hello, Ross.”

~

The silence which fell over their little group somehow seemed to even blot out the chatter of the gala’s other attendees. At least to Elizabeth’s ear. It also felt as if it stretched on for hours, although it was only a few moments. Apparently not eager to greet their own cousin, Francis and Verity discreetly shifted away into the crowd, the former gently pulling on Demelza’s elbow; evidently sensing that something was afoot, she went willingly, despite looking a little confused. Caroline was less eager to go, but Elizabeth nodded her encouragement and her friend left, although not without a meaningful glance back in Ross’ direction. Aware she couldn’t string this out any longer, Elizabeth turned around at last.

“Well, there’s even less to that dress than I thought.” That wasn’t what she was expecting, and it threw her, although no more than his sudden appearance already had. Annoyingly, she hadn’t hidden her surprise at this, and Ross gave her the kind of wolfish grin she had once upon a time found alluring. “Not saying that’s a bad thing, mind you.”

“What – what are you doing here, Ross?”

“Well, what do you think I’m doing? I came to watch you play. That’s what you were always nagging me about, wasn’t it?”

“No, I – “, but she cut herself off. They would only end up repeating the same old arguments, and she’d had enough of that long ago. “I didn’t even know you were back. Doesn’t seem like Francis or Verity did, either.”

“No, well, I only got back a few days ago. Found about this because I bumped into Ruth. Managed to swing myself an invite, thought I’d surprise you.” Elizabeth could have cursed Ruth who, although not party to the full details, knew that Ross and Elizabeth had once been an item but were now very firmly not. She wouldn’t have known that Elizabeth was showing up the gala with her current boyfriend, however.

“Ah, still here. I swear, John could talk a glass eye to sleep – “ George pulled up shot behind her, and Elizabeth sensed him tense.

“George. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” They hadn’t discussed it in detail, because frankly Elizabeth had little desire to dwell on Ross, but she knew that he and George hadn’t exactly got on at school, despite both being friends with Francis. Their fathers being something of business rivals at one time hadn’t helped, either.

“Likewise, Ross. How was…Australia, was it?” Elizabeth felt him move a little closer to her, although he didn’t touch her – protective, not possessive.

“Hot. Oppressive. Full of poisonous creatures. Reminded me of Cornish society a bit.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George give a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, expressing deliberately insincere amusement at the implied insult of this statement. She had heard Ross make dozens of such barbed remarks at functions over the years. There was even a time when she had almost enjoyed them, seeing them as a sign of the rebellious spirit which had been part of what first attracted her to Ross. Now, however, they were simply embarrassing, and reminded her exactly why she had never wanted this ‘reunion’ to take place. “Now, as nice as it’s been catching up, I didn’t come here to chat to you. I’m sure whatever you wanted to say to Elizabeth can wait.”

“I think that’s rather up to Elizabeth.” There was no note of challenge in George’s voice; he was offering her an out, or at least his presence in her support. Ross looked between them, frowning, and Elizabeth decided to bite the bullet. She turned to George, putting her hand on his arm in what she hoped was a clearly demonstrative way.

“It’s okay, George. I’ll catch up with you. I think Ross and I need to talk.” He looked her in the eye for a moment, and then nodded, gently touching her arm in return before disappearing back into the crowd. As she looked back at Ross, a slightly nasty part of her thoroughly enjoyed the utterly flabbergasted look on his face.

“You – You have GOT to be kidding! You and him?!” She didn’t enjoy the outraged pitch of his voice and the attention it attracted from nearby party-goers, however.

“Come this way, Ross.” She strode past him, the slight heels of her shoes tapping very softly on the floor, not caring if he was following, although she knew he would be. Eventually, she slipped into a corridor which led to the dressing-rooms and backstage area. It was empty now, all of the performers having joined the guests at the gala. He at least had the decency to close the door behind them, and they stood staring at each other for a few moments, which gave Elizabeth the chance to have a proper look at him. His hair was a bit longer, she thought, although the rough ponytail it was pulled into made it hard to tell. He had made some token deference to the occasion by wearing a suit, although he wore no tie, unsurprisingly. This careless attitude to formality was yet another thing which Elizabeth once thought conveyed a roguish charm but now grated on her.

“Okay, what are you really doing here?”

“I told you! I came to see you play.”

“Why the sudden desire to see me play? You never had much interest in my ‘hobby’ before.” He’d called it that during one of their later arguments, when she’d been trying to convince him that she had commitments of her own which were important to her, and couldn’t just be abandoned in favour of his latest yearning for ‘adventure’. Although that hadn’t been the absolute end, his use of the exact word that had come out of her mother’s mouth so many times had probably been the final straw for their relationship. Most certainly for her feelings for him.

“I just wanted to see you. I wasn’t expecting to find you draped all over George fucking Warleggan.”

“Oh, who were you expecting me to be draped over? Hmm? Or were you expecting me to have spent the better part of the last two fucking years crying in my bedroom? So piteous that I would immediately fall at your feet because you put on a halfway decent suit and showed up to one concert?!” The look on his face showed that this was exactly what he’d expected, which didn’t surprise her at all but did make her absolutely furious. “So, you bugger off to the other side of the world on little more than a whim, with no indication if or when you’ll ever come back, and you expect me to what? Just sit and wait for you? I assume you were totally celibate while you were out there, hmm?”

“That’s-“

“What? Different? Well, that was always the way, wasn’t it? One rule for you and one for everyone else, me included? You haven’t changed at all.”

“Unlike you, apparently, since I distinctly remember you telling me you weren’t going to marry for money like your mother.”

“Yes, because I couldn’t possibly be interested in somebody other than you for any reason except money!”

“Well, are you seriously expecting me to believe that prick’s got anything else going for him?” He gave a derisive laugh, which was utterly enraging. “What? Are you going to tell me he’s better in bed?”

“Well, at least he realises he’s not the only one there!” She turned and stormed back into the hall. There was no having a civil conversation with him. He was too infuriating, and his surprise appearance had thrown her too badly. Shouting at him had been somewhat satisfying but now she needed to just get as far away from him as possible.

She spotted George nearby, likely waiting for her, for which she was incredibly grateful.

“Okay, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, but I really want you to take me home. Right now, please.”


	16. Sixteen

George’s flat was the first they came to on the way back from the concert hall. He watched Elizabeth slip off his jacket, step out of her shoes and drop her bag on the couch before she headed straight for the bedroom. Not sure if she perhaps wanted some privacy, he hung back, taking off his tie and removing his cufflinks so he could roll up his sleeves. They’d barely spoken in the car, and now George had no idea what to do. Or say. He’d sensed in the tension in Elizabeth almost as soon as he’d found her with Ross at the gala. Despite her obvious discomfort, a hard stab of jealously had shot through him, and it hadn’t been entirely for her sake that he’d been loath to leave them alone together. It was ridiculous, but he’d watched Ross in action for years – charming his way into even the hardest of hearts and out of the deepest of trouble.

Elizabeth hadn’t spoken about her relationship with Ross in much detail, and George hadn’t pried – as far as he was concerned, her love life before they had met was her business. His own distaste for the man hadn’t made him eager to talk about it, either. He knew their split had been somewhat acrimonious, and related in some way to Ross taking off to Australia (he had a vague memory of either Francis or Verity telling him about their cousin’s departure at the time), but little more. Although he had sensed strong dislike in Elizabeth’s manner whenever she spoke of Ross, it wasn’t exactly hard to imagine the other man easily earning her forgiveness and winning back her affection.

Seeing Elizabeth’s clear emotional turmoil when she’d returned from her conversation with Ross, and her slight slump in the car, however, had made him feel terrible for so much as suspecting that she could be so easily led.

“George? Everything all right?” Her voice floated through from the bedroom, soft and enchanting. Feeling entirely like the fool in love he was, he couldn’t stop himself from following it. Elizabeth lay diagonally across the bed, arms above her head, her dress and pale skin almost stark against the dark blue sheets. Her short hair had been neatly smoothed back for the night, but now a few strands hung loose. She was, as ever, breath-taking. Regarding him a little sleepily, she frowned slightly. “Is something wrong?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He came to sit on the bed, on her right side. “I – Do you want to talk about…what happened tonight?”

“Not really.” She sighed, glancing away. “I suppose I knew it had to happen eventually. He wasn’t going to stay away forever. I just…I’d rather it hadn’t happened tonight. Tonight was supposed to be special -” she looked back up at him “- professionally and personally.”

“It was special. To me, anyway.” He meant it. Watching her perform again – like the night they’d met – and being with her openly had been wonderful, even if Ross’ intrusion had cut it somewhat short.

“Oh, George….Perhaps I shouldn’t have left. Let it get to me. But, when I came back in the hall, I didn’t want to see Caroline and Verity and Francis again, I didn’t want to drink or mingle anymore, I just…I just wanted to see you. To be alone with you.” The tenderness in her voice sparked an increasingly familiar flutter in his chest.

“Well, I’m never going to object to that.”

“Now…” She reached out a hand, gently toying with the rolled sleeve of his dress shirt, “tonight might not have gone exactly as planned, but I don’t intend to waste this dress, exes and early departures be damned…If you’ll indulge me, that is.”

“Oh, gladly.” Smiling widely, she wrapped her hand firmly around his arm, tugging until he leant down to kiss her. With a little only slightly awkward shifting he managed to move over her, pulling back to look at her. She chased him for another kiss and gave a little moue of disappointment when he moved out of her reach. “Ah, now, I didn’t get the chance for a proper look earlier.”

Taking his weight on one hand, he traced the edge of a piece of intricate lacework which wound its way around her body, just brushing the sheer material adjoining it. Her soft intake of breath was incredibly distracting, but he forced himself to focus, running his hand further upward, to the high neckline of the dress, stroking the sensitive hollow of her throat above it. Dropping his hand abruptly, he settled it at her hip, slightly bunching the chiffon of her skirt which, close to, was just fine enough to hint at the outline of her bare legs.

“You know….I’m not sure if I’d prefer this dress on, or off.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, and looked at him with soft, wide eyes. “Well…why don’t you find out?”

~

“Yes, I definitely prefer it off.”

“Me too,” Elizabeth laughed, “even if it is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn. I’m very glad Caroline talked me into it….and you talked me out of it.”

“I don’t recall a lot of talking being involved.”

Another laugh. “Perhaps not.”

They lay side by side, their evening clothes long discarded, although Elizabeth had insisted on getting up to drape her dress over the chair so it wouldn’t spend too much time on the floor. Entwined hands were the only contact between them, until Elizabeth turned to wrap her other hand around his arm and rest her head against his shoulder.

“I love you.” George thought, and then realised he’d said out loud, the sense of warmth and contentment which had lulled him into opening his mouth being replaced with sensation of having a bucket of ice cold water poured on his head. Silence dragged on for an eternity which actually lasted no more than two seconds.

“Do you?” Elizabeth didn’t move, but her grip on his hand tightened almost imperceptibly. No going back now.

“Yes. I do. I really do.” Well, he’d said it. Like an idiot.

“Well, that’s good. That’s very good. Because I really love you, too.” The warmth came back just as suddenly as it had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :D. Sorry I've been a bit slow posting!


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